Notes from the Edge 03-22-24

Well fancy meeting you here. Are you stuck in the Blizzard
of 2022 like I am.

I think I was being a bit of a smart-ass last Monday when
they announced this coming snowstorm. They always exaggerate the
possibilities; it seems but this time they nailed it. It swept in Wednesday, right
on cue for the Northeastern seaboard and began piling up. It is now Friday and
still snowing like crazy.

The porch door.

The front door.

The side porch, drifted in.

The van, buried.

The side yard, also buried…

The woods behind the house and the shed buried. There is
about 5 feet of snow on the level, except the mouth of the driveway which is at
least seven feet high and growing now that the plows are running again. But I
got up early to shovel (Until I realized the snow was not yet done) and I made
coffee, so we will be fine, or at the very least caffeinated 🙂

I hope all of you are safe, warm and have a coffee/cocoa
maker, tea, something that dispenses warmth and alertness.

I will be waiting out this storm so I can shovel out the
driveway, find the mailbox or buy another one and get things straight before
the next storm smacks us up.

I will leave you with a free, true short story I wrote about
my days driving cab in the city. Love you guys and appreciate you as well and
I’ll be back tomorrow, Dell…

TRUE: True stories from a small town #1

By Dell Sweet

Original Material Copyright © 1976 – 1984 – 2009 – 2014 by
Dell Sweet

PUBLISHED BY: Wendell Sweet

All rights reserved, domestic and foreign.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This
book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to
share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for
each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover and Interior Artwork Copyright 2013 Dell Sweet

TRUE: True stories from a small town #1 is Copyright © 2013
Dell Sweet

No part of this book may be reproduced by any means,
electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the
authors permission. Permission is granted to use short sections of text in
reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

 

THE LAST RIDE

 

It was early in my shift. I owned my own taxi so I could
pretty much pick which 12 hour shift I wanted to drive. I drove nights so that
I could be home with my son during the day while my wife worked. I’d told
myself for most of the last year that I should stop driving taxi, settle down
to a real job and be more responsible. But then a Conrail contract came along
and then the opportunity to work with another driver who handled the Airport
contract, and suddenly I was making more money than I could have reasonably
expected from what I would have considered a straight job.

The hours were long, but there was something that attracted
me to the night work. I always had been attracted to night work.  Like my
internal clock was Set to PM.  It just seemed to work and after a few
failed attempts to workday shift work, I gave it up and went to work full time
nights.

I was never bored. The nights kept me awake and interested.
They supplied their own entertainment.

Conrail crews, regulars that called only for me, the
assorted funny drunks late at night when the bars were closing. Soldiers on
their way back to the nearby base, and a dancer at a small club just off downtown that had been calling for me personally for the last few weeks. Using my
cab as a dressing room on the way back to her hotel. It was always something
different.

Days, the few times I’d driven days, couldn’t compare. Sure,
there was violence too but it rarely came my way and never turned into a big
deal when it did. At six foot two, two hundred and twenty pounds most trouble
looked elsewhere when it came to me.

It was Friday night, one of my big money nights, about 7:00
P.M. and my Favorite dispatcher Smitty had just come on. He sent me on a call
out State Street that would terminate downtown. Once I was downtown, I could
easily pick up a GI heading back to the base for a nice fat fare and usually a
pretty good tip. My mind was on that.

My mind was also on that dancer who would be calling
sometime after two AM and who had made it clear that I was more than welcome to
come up to her room. It was tempting, I’ll admit it, and each time she called
she tempted me more. I figured it was just a matter of time before I went with
her.

I really didn’t see the lady when she got into my car, but
when it took her three times to get out the name of the bar downtown that she
wanted to go to I paid attention.  Drunk.   It was early too.
Sometimes drunks were OK, but most times they weren’t. This one kept slumping
over, slurring her words, nearly dropping her cigarette. I owed the bank a pile
of money on the car and didn’t need burn holes in my back seat.

I dropped the flag on the meter, pulled away from the
curbing and eased into traffic. Traffic was heavy at that time and I pissed off
more than a few other drivers as I forced my way into the traffic flow.

I had just settled into the traffic flow when a glance into the
rear-view mirror told me my passenger had fallen over. I couldn’t see the
cigarette, but I could still smell it. I made the same drivers even angrier as I
swept out of the traffic flow and angled up onto the sidewalk at the edge of
the street. I got as far out of the traffic flow as I could get so I could get
out to see what was up with the woman in the back seat.

I was thinking drunk at the time, but the thought that it
could be something more serious crept into my head as I made the curb, bumped
over it, set my four-way flashers and climbed out and went around to the back
door.

She was slumped over into the wheel well, the cigarette
smoldering next to her pooled, black hair. In her hair, I realized as the smell
of burning hair came to me. I snatched the cigarette and threw it out the open
door, then shook her shoulder to try and bring her around. But it was obvious
to me, just that fast, that the whole situation had changed. She wasn’t
breathing.

I reached in, caught her under the arms, and then suddenly
someone else was there with me.

He was a short, thin man wearing a worried look up on his
face. Dark eyes set deeply in their sockets. His hair hung limply across his
forehead. He squeezed past me and looked down at the woman. He pushed her
eyelids up quickly, one by one, and then held his fingers to her lips. He
frowned deeply and flipped the hair away from his forehead.

“Paramedic”, he told me as he took her other arm
and helped me pull her from the back seat.

We laid her out on the sloping front lawn of the insurance
company I had stopped in front of and he put his head to her chest.

He lifted his head, shaking it as he did. “Call an
ambulance,” he said tersely.

I could feel the shift in his demeanor He wasn’t letting me
know he could handle the situation, like when he had told me he was a
paramedic, he was handling it. I got on the radio and made the call.

The ambulance got there pretty fast. I stood back out of the
way and let them work on her, raising my eyes to the backed-up traffic on
occasion. The paramedic had torn open her shirt. Her nudity seemed so out of
place on the city sidewalk. Watching the traffic took the unreal quality of it
away from me. I watched the ambulance pull away, eased my car down off the curb
and back into the sluggish traffic and went back to work.

I got the story on her about midnight once things slowed
down and I stopped into the cab stand to talk to the dispatcher for a short
while. His daughter knew someone, who knew someone, who knew someone at the
hospital. The woman had taken an overdose. Some kind of pills. It was going to
be touch and go. He also had a friend in the police department too. She did it
because of a boyfriend who had cheated on her. It seemed so out of proportion
to me. I went back to work, but I asked him to let me know when he heard more.

2:30 AM:

The night had passed me by. The business of the evening
hours catching me up for a time and taking me away from the earlier events. I
was sitting downtown in my cab watching the traffic roll by me.  It was a
beautifully warm early morning for Northern New York. I had my window down
letting the smell of the city soak into me, when I got the call to pick up my
dancer with the club gig.

“And, Joe,” Smitty told me over the static filled
radio, ” your lady friend didn’t make it.”

It was just a few blocks to the club. I left the window down
enjoying the feeling of the air flowing past my face.

The radio played Steely Dan’s Do It Again and I kind of half
heard it as I checked out the back seat to see if the ghost from the woman
earlier might suddenly pop up there.

The dancer got in and smiled at me. I smiled back but I was
thinking about the other woman, the woman who was now dead, sitting in that
same place a few hours before. The dancer began to change clothes as I drove to
her hotel.

“You know,” she said, catching my eyes in the
mirror.  “I should charge you a cover.  You’re seeing more than
those GI’S in the club.” She shifted slightly, her breasts rising and
falling in the rear-view mirror. We both laughed. It was a game that was not a
game. She said it to me every time. But my laugh was hollow. Despite her
beauty I was still hung up on someone being alive in my back seat just a few
hours before and dead now. Probably being wheeled down to the morgue were my
friend Pete worked. I made myself look away and concentrate on the driving. She
finished dressing as I stopped at her hotel’s front entrance.

“You could come up…  If you wanted to,” she
said. She said it lightly, but her eyes held serious promise.

“I’d like to…  But I better not,” I said.

She smiled but I could tell I had hurt her feelings. It was
a real offer, but I couldn’t really explain how I felt. Why I couldn’t. Not
just because I was married, that was already troubled, but because of something
that happened earlier.

I drove slowly away after she got out of the cab and wound
up back downtown for the next few hours sitting in the parking lot of an
abandoned building thinking… ‘I was only concerned about her cigarette
burning the seats.’

I smoked while I sat, dropping my own cigarettes out the
window and onto the pavement. A short while later Smitty called me with a
Conrail trip.  

I started the cab and drove out to Massey yard to pick up my
crew. The dancer never called me again…

Hey, get ready for summer because
it is almost here. Thanks for reading. You can find my books on Apple or Amazon andfollow me on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@ATD-EverythingElse or FaceBook 

Stay
safe and warm, Dell…

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